Palindromes
by wintry
Summary: Updated! Draco plays with Harry's mind, but has isolation already begun to affect it? Everyone is tense before the gala dinner, and Pansy suspects something.
1. Chapter 1 Solos

**Palindromes**

Chapter 1

_The sun is shining through the heavy drapes of his father's sitting room in tapered shafts._

_Sun- sun makes him think of Quidditch, sun on grass and sun on Quaffles and sun gleaming on the good, solid handle of his first broomstick.__ That feeling that lies in the hollow of his mouth, curled between roof and tongue, named delight. He wants to stay with sun, think about it all day, but his father prods him gently with another word and its all fun again anyway._

_This is Father's game. Another word can mean something else entirely, like 'snake' reminds him of favors and ice cream carries a certain bitter taste. Draco plays along and likes it very much- or else he would pout and Father would give in, like always. Draco understands it well enough now and calls out rushy exclamations in reply. _

_How about mornings, Draco, Father is saying. What does it make you think of? And then Draco thinks about mornings and sees sun and sees Quidditch and he is happy again. He smiles, a secret smile for little amusements, and announces this to Father, Quidditch. _

_Between his careful fingers, Father watches him, fingers that seem never to stop flickering in and out of sight. The little hand gestures and daydreams of his son filter through, and he sees everything, watching every movement, sharing every secret smile. _

_Somewhere it must come together, because, in the end, Father understands everything too._

He saw Harry two weeks after term ended. If anything, Draco felt pleased rather than surprised and outraged. 

He had entered the café early, as he did from time to time when breakfast back at the inn didn't suit his tastes. He never expected to see anyone there; in fact, it irritated him when he wasn't served immediately. Most mornings, he would enter and find a seat by the window just before the waitress appeared, jotting down his requests before he has a chance to settle. 

Today he frowned instead, taking in the pale light and the brisk waking rituals of the shops outside. His attention had already turned to his plans for the afternoon when the waitress bustled up with her pad and wand in hand. 

"You're slow today," he said with disdain. She peered across at him along her narrow nose and dipped her head smartly.

"I'm sorry," she replied airily, amused, and offered no explanation. "What'll you be having today, Draco?- or are you too insulted now to breakfast in my café?" 

"Tea, the usual, but hold the sarcasm if you would." She sent him a wry smile and was off to fetch it. 

Moments later he was stirring it idly with a silver spoon, head leant up against the back of his chair and tilted slightly to his right so he could look up towards the sky and the street, if he wished. It was a pleasant view, if quaint, and he found himself forgetting the thoughts he had meant to be thinking about in order to look at the clouds, and hopes for Quidditch today floating among them.

The jolt of a shattered coffee cup made Draco lift his head and turn his attentions to the other side of the room. A large Chinese urn managed to block his view, but he heard a boy's voice and could see the scene reflected faintly in the window.

His gray eyes widened by a fraction. There was that uncertain shift in his mind, and he blinked his eyes, thinking, 'Potter'. Harry Potter, here, in his café, when it was widely known that he spent summers with his Muggle family. He mouthed the name as if feeling it on his lips would convince him of the truth. 

Then he smiled, finishing his tea with the clinking of sickles to the tabletop, and left with his eyes cast downward and Potter's stare teasing the back of his neck. 

Draco Malfoy made an exit. 

Harry had not seen him enter, had not seen him sit down and delicately sip his morning tea. He hadn't noticed that translucent reflection in the window beside him, floating ghost-like above the vibrant window boxes trimmed with summer flowers. 

Yet he watched closely as Draco rose and left. No insults, no stray sarcastic remarks or scathing death threats. No smirk. And as Draco skimmed past the window boxes and left his line of vision, Harry wondered how he knew just the way to make him grit his teeth and clench his hands. 

"Was that...?"

"Draco Malfoy? Yes." Lupin glanced across the table at him. Frowning, Harry turned away from the window. "Don't make too much of it, Harry. I know for a fact he regularly comes here for breakfast. I can assure you that you're not being hunted down."

Harry rolled his eyes, picking at his muffin. Lupin had not ordered anything to eat. "Why would I worry about that?" he replied, but felt himself relax into his chair. 

"Yes, well- it might be a good idea to worry a bit more. I'm not saying you should drink from a hip flask," he continued quickly, before Harry could protest. "I'm not Mad Eye, there's no need to live in fear, but just-...use caution. You put his father into prison; he's not going to be queuing up to join your fan club. Revenge should not be underestimated, Harry."

Harry looked away. 

The day was innocent outside on Diagon Alley, so full of life with its pale green stems and sunshine blues and pink daffodils charmed to bloom through the heaviest snow. Hatred had no place here, where even Malfoy was passive, at least, rather than confrontational; yet Harry clutched at his hatred and hid it away, ashamed but unwavering. 

No one could take it from him. It had made Privet Drive more than the usual torture by consuming his idle hours. He didn't want to remember what he had considered then while his scar was a constant agony and he was feverish and weak from the pain. The Dursleys knew better than to disturb him in his state, but they turned away the battalions of owls and cursed at him through the door flap, as if they could beat his nonsense into submission.

But owls still came, and Harry stared at the newspaper for an hour every morning since his eyes would never focus very long. Some days he wondered if the task was worth taking on, when every edition read nearly the same. 

Murder- muggles were dying, no, more than dying because Dementors wandered the streets at night and stole souls as they pleased. Like wolves stealing chickens. The muggle world became a slaughterhouse and no one dared enter, no one dared to go in and save them all because it wasn't worth the risk of discovery. 

Harry despaired. Locked away in his room he experienced nightmares and rages until the Dursleys were afraid to slide food through the door. 

He was caged like a beast left to die and he no longer cared. Hedwig found one night that he would no longer open the window to let her in. She sat on a tree branch hooting softly and tapping her beak on the glass but Harry was too busy breaking himself apart; it all seemed impossibly misunderstood.  

He could not help, he could not leave, he could not eat or sleep from the pain. All in all, he lived because of the distant pulse of a greater need; only he could end this war.

But still they kept him caged away.

And then a letter arrived. The owl appeared with a crack, snipping at his fingers and there was nothing to do but take the envelope and open the window to lead it outside.

He took a cautious breath to see if, perhaps, he could still remember the smell of fresh air, but then a man was killed 23 miles away; he had an elderly mother and three small sons, Harry heard them locked in the next room, being subjected to Imperius as a group of laughing Death Eaters looked on. 

A short, muffled cry escaped his lips and he slid down the wall, letter crumpled into the shape of his fist. Opening the envelope, he glanced down at it with eyes half-closed and one cheek pressed against the wall.   

_Dear Harry, _

_Are you all right over there? Why haven't you been writing us? We've been worried, Hermione is going spare- you did promise you would this time. I hope the muggles aren't giving you a hard time. Honestly, we didn't think they would, but with everything that's going on, you know, we couldn't be sure.. _

_Hold on, Professor Lupin wants to add something._

_Harry- sit tight. I know Dumbledore's explained the situation to you, so you understand why it's so important, don't do anything that'll put yourself in danger. Arabella says she hasn't seen you outside, and that your family won't give her any information- let me know if anything's wrong, and please, try to keep in touch. ~Remus Lupin_

_It's__ Ron again-..._

He shredded the letter and then let his head fall against the wall with a groan; the scraps of parchment fluttered down and stuck against his shirtfront like the perspiration that beaded in the hollow of his red throat.

He had wanted more than anything to give up. 

One morning Uncle Vernon charged through the door and forced him into clothes. He was made to eat properly for the first time in days and he could not complain; instead, he stared at each Dursley in turn through glassy eyes, wishing he knew if this was a sudden change of heart. 

They threw him out afterwards, Aunt Petunia saying tremulously that she wanted no dying ingrates in her house and Uncle Vernon saying good riddance. Dudley said nothing to him at all, instead demanding to know if he could finally reclaim his second bedroom, as it was, of course, rightfully his. He found himself staring at the door, standing on the doorstep where he had been left sixteen years ago, with yet another letter addressed to Petunia Dursley fallen at his feet. 

And so he left. 

He staggered into the second level of a parking deck belonging to Grunnings, the middle level between one and three, where his uncle always parked. It was Sunday, around half past nine, and there were very few cars about because of this. 

Sitting down, he smelt petrol and cigarettes on the air. The combination made him lightheaded, but it was no worse than usual, and the sleepy, flickering quality of the lights made him laugh once before falling silent; any sound rebounded harshly against concrete ceilings, floors, and walls.

"Harry?" His name echoed strangely as well. Harry was surprised that he had not been the one to say it; a figure followed the voice out of the shadows and into a pool of marigold light. "Good _god_, what...? Harry, are you all right?"

"Fine," he replied with a weak smile. "Hello Professor. I saw your note."

"So it seems." Lupin checked him over silently with his eyes. "Harry,-"

"I'm fine. I..." A glance told Harry that further explanation was pointless. He fell silent and concentrated on the blurred outline of his trainers.  

"You don't have to tell me now, but later, if you would. We haven't the time anyway; it isn't safe for you here. I've already made arrangements; you'll have to follow what I say, all right, Harry?"

"All right. And I'm fine, really," Harry lied. The pain was ebbing now, but it was certain to return at any time. "Go on."

"First, come with me."

Lupin set off from the direction he had entered. With some difficulty, Harry kept up with his brisk pace, though Lupin was obviously slowing for him. A sense of urgency was all that kept him moving; Harry was aware of the danger in this rescue. The last time he had left the Dursley's house, a guard of nine witches and wizards had been sent to accompany him, with possibly more to help in planning and assisting.

They began to ascend a flight of steps. Lupin stopped midway to face Harry. For a moment he searched Harry's features, which were flushed a pallid red-gray, and sighed. "I didn't think this was a good idea from the start. Neither did Dumbledore- he discouraged me from coming for you this time, since there seemed to be no immediate danger."

"Is that why...you came alone?"

Lupin smiled. "I couldn't have you suffer, could I? A good Healer could probably come up with something to treat those pains. It's not as if there was no choice in the matter." 

"I wasn't...about to die," said Harry slowly, hesitant to believe it himself.   

"No, you weren't."

"It felt like it, sometimes. I thought so. Nothing seemed to make sense, then- and now, you say that you went against Dumbledore. That doesn't make sense either."

Looking down at Harry from a step above him, Lupin seemed suddenly distracted. He turned his head to glance up towards the top level, where a scattering of stars was just visible. "We should get going, Harry. This can wait for another day. Come on." His voice was suddenly rough, and he climbed the remaining steps too quickly for Harry to follow. 

When Harry emerged, at first he could see little. Apparently, Lupin owned his own Put-Outer; no lights lit the top level, but concrete ceilings gave way to the night sky. For awhile, Harry simply stood and waited for his eyes to adjust. 

What he saw then was Lupin standing next to a giant motorcycle. The older man was examining it intently with his fingers, tracing over the handlebars and the metal that seemed like the subtle network of raised muscles under the fur of a big cat. A memory sparked in the back of Harry's mind, but he was too weary to recognize it. 

Instead he approached the motorcycle- the motorcycle, rather than Lupin who, for a moment, didn't seem to notice him at all. When he did, he acted as if he had been woken in the middle of a dream.  

 "Oh, yes, Harry- have you got everything?" 

Harry looked at him plaintively. He hadn't been able to salvage anything except his wand, which he carried in his pocket at all times, before he had been thrown out. 

Lupin sighed. "That's right. I'll send someone by later to fetch your belongings, I suppose. Now-," He gestured towards the motorcycle. "This should take you to Diagon Alley. You'll be staying there for the night." 

Harry nodded. Lupin seemed encouraged because he continued, "I know you've always taken a room at the Leaky Cauldron, so you should be fine there. Someone will meet you, we haven't been sure lately if..." Lupin trailed off. He stared at Harry for several seconds before sighing again and running a hand through his hair agitatedly. "You haven't got your invisibility cloak."  

"Though, apparently, I need it," said Harry listlessly. "Of course."

"No, no, it'll just be a bit more difficult, that's all. Here, get on-" He helped Harry mount. Harry had never really ridden a bicycle before, aside from pretending a few times on Dudley's dirt bikes when his cousin left the house. It reminded him strongly of riding a hippogriff.  

Lupin curled Harry's hands around the handlebars, showing him the brakes. "Only for emergencies. The motorcycle should guide itself, I've already made sure of that. Nothing should be able to get at you up in the air."

"It flies?" said Harry, surprised. Lupin smiled, a sad expression, though it was hard to tell in the dark.

"Yes, it does. He wouldn't have liked it so much if it didn't." Harry froze.  

"_Not now," he said, his voice deadly soft but sharp and more distinct than it had been for days now. "Don't talk about him now. If I want to get through tonight I can't be thinking about him, so-...so I'll pretend you never said that, all right?" He closed his eyes. _

"Are you sure you're fit to do this, Harry?"

"I'm not staying here."

Lupin took a step away from the motorcycle, looking pointedly down the stairs as if there were somewhere else he had to be. 

"If that's what you want, then. The motorcycle should take you a few streets down from the inn, a side street- you should be fine, but stopping for directions wouldn't be the best of ideas. Make sure to keep out of sight."

"What about a Disillusionment Charm?" asked Harry. 

Lupin shook his head. "If I could, I'd do one for you, but I haven't got the knack for them that Moody does; you'll just have to stay inconspicuous, and get down to the inn as quickly as you can without attracting attention. From there, there's no way I can help you, so you have to play it by ear- and don't let Tom the innkeeper see you, we aren't sure which side he's on recently. Once you're in there, get up the staircase, to room number 12, at the end."

Trying to concentrate, Harry repeated this to himself several times. The words swam in his head and it was difficult, but soon he remembered the directions well enough to satisfy himself. 

"Ready then?" Harry couldn't help but think how tired Lupin looked- not from age, the darkness took away the gray streaks in his hair and the lines around his mouth in eyes, but from indifference. He didn't seem to care how he looked anymore. 

"I guess. And, Professor- thank you." 

"Go on. I'll see you in a few days, Harry. I would wish you good luck, but maybe you should just have this, instead." Lupin drew a small gray box from an inner pocket and continued wryly, "It's no wedding ring, I can promise you that. A pocket watch. I notice you lost the wristwatch you always wear."

It was true- Harry's old watch, slightly dented by the time it had been passed down to him, had stopped ticking just as summer began. "Thanks, Professor. I'd open it now, but...never mind." Just as he moved to pocket the box, he faltered. Instead, he flicked it open, fumbling as he brought it near his face. 

The watch was made of bare gold, or seemed to be. It was smooth except for along scratch where metal showed through, and several rough areas where the watch must have been dropped and then polished carefully afterwards. At one point there must have been a matching gold chain, but this was gone, as well as the latch that would have held it tightly shut. 

Harry was careful to keep it from swinging open as he replaced it gently, putting both box and watch back into his pocket. He felt a dull pain in his head that he didn't believe came from his scar, and swallowed. 

"You'll be fine Harry," said Lupin. "Get on, now."

"Thank you."

"No need, just go." 

Soon the thrumming growl of the motorcycle overcame his ears. The bike took a mighty lunge into the sky; Harry looked back as Lupin became more and more faint in the distance and then disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2 Never Odd or Even

Chapter 2

Certainly Draco had left the café, but he had not gone far. Just down the street was number ninety-three, Diagon Alley: home to Weasleys' Wizards Wheezes and owned by the Weasley twins themselves. 

It was a plain enough brick building, hunching over the street slightly like all shops seemed to do. But the large sign and other various oddments attached to the building were anything but plain; Draco scowled and thought, 'Plain? The word is gaudy.' The door and the long benches where he sat were painted the color of Weasley Hair Orange. 

Still, Harry was guaranteed to come by here. There was no other choice. 

"Oy, Fred, is that Malfoy?" Draco's head turned quickly from side to side, and then finally upwards. The twins were leaning out of two windows, each holding one end of a string of glittering yellow letters. It resembled a birthday banner and read "NEW FROM WEASLEY'S WIZARD WHEEZES! CANARY CREME MINIS! SOMETIMES BIGGER ISN'T ALWAYS BETTER!" 

"Who else could have that poncy blond hair?"

"Ron did for awhile, remember? We slipped that- what was it?"

"I dunno. But that's right, I remember. He wasn't so pleased about it."

Draco heard a distinct snort. "He tried one of Ginny's hexes on us. Good thing he hasn't got her aim or we might have had to relive that bogey incident."

There was collective shudder, in which Draco was included. Deciding he had heard enough, Draco got up and left, taking one long look at the sign before turning away, deep in thought. 

Potter had been in his room last night. He knew it now, beyond doubt, but no worry seemed to rear its ugly head. 

"_Postulo__ Servus," he murmured. The words required no wand and technically required no magic- it was more like a summons. In an instant, a house elf appeared at his feet, head bowed. "Take us back to the inn," he said, and immediately they disappeared.   _

The air above the clouds was as cold as he remembered it, though the numbness that was overtaking him was unfamiliar. The wind had been so cold at first that it was painful to move, to even blink and close his eyes- but that was the same as his scar pangs. 

But then the numbness set in, and it was almost a relief not to feel anymore. The brilliant cold kept him sharp and aware, and his head felt remarkably clear. He could hardly breathe. He could hardly feel, except for the warm buzz of the motorcycle beneath him. And it was all wonderful. 

By the time he arrived in Diagon Alley, his entire face was tinged a pale blue, and his lips faintly purplish. Thankfully, the streets were dark and empty; no one was there to notice him creeping stiffly down the street, the feeling seeping back into his limbs hurting him worse than before. He swore darkly under his breath and made for the Leaky Cauldron. 

Then he reached the wall, separated the wizarding world and the inn.

For at least ten minutes, he prodded various bricks in various orders before slumping against the wall, thawing and listening sullenly to the merry sounds of the pub on the other side. He couldn't go through it, he couldn't climb over it (the wall stretched upwards until it met with a small round window, and then the roof); he would have to wait until someone else came through, so he could sneak in.  

A loud crack broke the silence, the sound of someone Apparating. Footsteps approached. Harry felt a sudden flutter of panic and anticipation in his chest. The doorway of a closed shop loomed nearby and he hurled himself into it, hoping that he hadn't been spotted. 

"Hurry up, Harry." His stomach gave the strangest of dips and he seemed to freeze again, no longer aware of the stiffness in his joints and the quick pulse in his scar.   

"Yes, sir, Harry will be done right away," came a high voice that could only belong to a house elf. He relaxed slightly, trying to still his breath. But really- a house elf named Harry?

"I'm not seeing, 'right away', Harry. I'll have you punished when we get home." Then there was the grumbling sound of shifting bricks. Harry shot a cautious glance around the doorway and tried to muffle a gasp. 

Rather than an archway, opening up to the back entrance of the inn, the wall had formed into something like a ladder, leading to a rounded balcony where the window had been before. Harry could see a door leading inside. Missing bricks served as handholds that were regularly spaced and easy to climb- the house elf and its master were already most of the way up. 

Harry had no choice but to follow them. No one else was likely to come by at this hour. As they disappeared over the balcony, he made a dash for the wall and began climbing, body hugged tight to the bricks. 

A light flickered on just as Harry reached the top. He peered over the balcony and looked in; the room was elegant in an embellished sort of way. It was a set of four rooms: bathroom, sitting room, and two bedrooms. 

He was obviously looking into a bedroom. A grand bed made entirely of mahogany dominated the space, its gold accents catching the light. The lamps had long coppery arms and surrounded a cherub's head, and though it was beautiful, it was also sinister. The combined effect was so vivid that Harry barely noticed a flash of blond hair disappearing into another room. 

Taking this to be his chance, Harry fell into the balcony, aching for rest, but moved on. Below, the clacking of bricks told him the wall was returning to normal. He passed through the doors, there was a sharp snap, and the balcony became a circular window once again. 

People spoke in the next room, politely hushed, but occasionally he caught a false laugh or exclamation. Hurriedly, Harry scanned the area. It was apparently empty, giving him some amount of security, but he remained as cautious as ever. He would need to find somewhere to hide. Quickly. 

He scrambled beneath the bed. It was there that Harry discovered Harry. 

The house elf was sleeping. Harry stared at it for a long time until he was quite sure of this, though he didn't chance poking it to check. After awhile, he was able to ignore the soft snoring, but he felt nervous that it could wake at any moment. 

A man entered the room- this was clear by the shape and fit of his boots, and the decisiveness of the footfalls. A shaft of bright light shone under the bathroom door and gleamed on leather that must have been recently polished. They were the shoes of a rich man, and Harry did not allow himself dread. The man was Lucius Malfoy, fresh out of Azkaban. Dread was useless. With his chest pressed against the floor, Harry could feel the heavy pounding of his heart.

Lucius rapped the door lightly. There was a reply from within that Harry could not make out. 

"Draco, where is that house elf of yours? My guests are awaiting drinks."

The door opened, and the light extended its reach to under the bed. Harry struggled away from it, casting nervous looks at the house elf throughout. 

"Summon him if you want." Harry bit back his surprise. Of course, Draco wouldn't drawl at his father, but his voice was very different without that element of hatred. "I bet its going at the sweets again."

Lucius made clear his disdain. "It would be wise to rid it of those sugar cravings. You shouldn't cater to its tastes, like you do. I saw it just this afternoon with some of that Weasley rubbish, those crèmes."

"I didn't give them to him, Father. They were handing them out yesterday, we passed by the shop. Though," he paused, laughing, "the prats had gotten their sign wrong. I don't suppose they know how to spell 'canary', put in two N's instead of one." 

"_That is no surprise. I wouldn't expect better from a Weasley." Harry made fists beneath the bed, furious that he could do nothing._

"Yes, I told them that. They seemed rather peeved that I had noticed it before they had. But they gave the elf some crèmes anyway. I suspect he's still carting them around in his sack."

Harry had a sudden idea. Could he...? Yes. It was possible, he would just have to reach over there...

He slid his arm along the floor towards the house elf and, barely daring to breathe, turned out a tiny pocket that the elf had sewn to its filthy pillowcase front. Three candies rolled into his hand, small and pale yellow. Fred and George had sent him a letter about them early in the summer, more of an ad really. He had pinned it up on his wall, as it was the first time he had received anything that reminded him of junk mail by owl. The twins were ahead of their time.  

"Canary Crème Minis!" It had read. Painted canaries had fluttered over the paper, making a chirping noise so loud that Harry had needed to hide it until the charm had worn off. The slogan was blazed across the top in bright yellow script- "Sometimes Bigger isn't always Better!" A crème had also been included in the envelope, with a note saying that he should try it out on Dudley. 

Harry had tried it on himself instead, and stayed a canary for a good five hours. Afterwards, when he reported this to the twins, they had written back saying that it must have been a freak reaction, they were terribly sorry, and could they study into it sometime? His aunt and uncle hadn't been quite so amused. 

Eying the sweet with a sense of excitement, Harry swallowed one. Within moments he gave a slight noise- nothing more than a pop- and turned into a canary. 

"Did you hear that, Draco?" Harry could hear a frown in his voice. Draco did not reply, and they dropped the conversation- Lucius briskly left the room, calling something genially to his guests. Harry risked a hop towards the far side of the bed, and saw Lucius speak again as he turned to close the door. 

"Very well- get yourself in order and then come meet our guests. They're quite...fascinating, wouldn't you say?"

Draco remained expressionless, his voice flat. It was strange how much more intimidating he looked at this angle. "I suppose I'll find out."

The man swept out the room, closing the door with a light click. Harry had just begun thinking of escape when a pale hand shot under the bed and closed around him.

Draco's grip was tight and furious. He stood up and brought Harry up to his face, his fingers crushing through bird bones and feathers. Harry heard things crack and struggled, wanting to scream, but all he could do was claw and peck at Draco's hand. The hand went tighter and tighter- Harry realized abruptly that he couldn't breath, could hardly think. This was a pathetic end to life. 

Malfoy smiled, thin-lipped. His eyes were bright. 

"Who are you? You're a nasty little bird. You didn't think I couldn't see you under there, with those feathers? Sod. Spies think like that. You must be spying on us." He didn't seem to mind the blood trickling down his hand and to the floor, startlingly red against the stone. "Well, my friend," He tilted his head forward slightly and smirked through his shadowed features. "You have particularly poor taste. Malfoy's don't like being spied on. I saw you following me up here. Did you expect to find the secrets of my family- or perhaps put my father back in Azkaban, though it couldn't hold him in the first time?" 

His laugh reminded Harry of freezing in the clouds, and that chill, chill wind. "That's something that Potter would do, isn't it? Perhaps both of you don't understand what being a Malfoy is. Come. I'll show you." And with his bloodied hand Draco straightened the front of his robes methodically, then pushed his way into the sitting room. 

Lucius sat at the head of a short, rectangular table topped with black marble. He scarcely looked up as his son entered with blood on his hands and a glassy-eyed bird in his fist. He stirred his wine once with a flick of his wrist and swallowed the last sip, gesturing to a seat on his right. 

The other guests didn't look up at all. There were two women and one young man, all beautiful and obviously Muggle- Lucius watched them with a glimmer in his eye, holding a wand in his left hand and a shining silver fork in his right. 

He did not eat. His plate was empty and looked as if it had never served food. In fact, all five plates were clean except Draco's, where there was a simple dinner. 

Draco ate simply while the guests ate air. 

It was an odd sight; Harry was unsure if he was only hallucinating. The sounds of clinking knives and the delicate ring of a spoon against an empty bowl broke the silence, and it seemed like a dinner party. But their mouths opened as if speaking passionate words and closed as if ending them without making a single phrase. This was no dinner party; there was no talk, and there was no dinner. Harry watched only because he could do nothing else. 

Draco finished and rose after an indefinite amount of time. Lucius stood and nodded him out of the room, before sitting once again. He seemed intent on entertaining his guests. Harry found himself carried to another bedroom- smaller than the one he had entered earlier, but no less elegant. Perhaps less golden and slightly darker, with hints of burgundy and other dark reds. 

Draco drove him into an empty owl cage with close-set bars. He proceeded to clean his wounds in a pitcher that was filled for water meant for drinking, dissolving the dried blood. After he had dried his hands, he poured himself a glass. It made Harry feel faintly ill, but he didn't have the energy to move. His breath came in short gasps and a fluttering of yellow wings.  

"My father will watch those Muggles under Imperius for days," said Draco after a long silence. "He will starve them and never let them gain control again. They will waste away. He can make them seem glad for it. And then they will clap as he performs Cruciatus on the others." Draco drank calmly, swirling the water as his father had wine.  

"It's not that he is evil, per se. You could call it brilliance, or madness, I suppose. To be a Malfoy is madness itself. But my father is brilliant as well. A difficult combination." He drained his glass, smiling again. It was not the smile of a lunatic, but Harry wanted to see signs and so he found them. The light in those gray eyes, the tint of blood on his lower lip. 

Draco leant forward, his forehead pressed against the cage in a confidential manner. "But it doesn't matter what I tell you," he whispered softly and there was lazy pleasure in his voice.  "Nothing matters, our side is going to prevail. All great leaders are mad, did you know? No you didn't, I can see that. It doesn't matter. 

"I'll watch you die. Father says it's good for you."


	3. Chapter 3 Mad am I, Madam?

Chapter 3

Back in his room, Draco began undoing the buttons at the top of his robes, his gaze fixed on the birdcage. His owl had been out for weeks now, though it wasn't this that preoccupied him; rather, it was the cage itself.

It was versatile and clean, all black metal that seemed dull against the gold on the walls. So odd against the room. He had used it most of his life, as long as he had owned the owl, but it had been Father's before that. Draco hadn't asked why there had been streaks of old blood on the sides. It was useful enough. The bars were charmed to adapt, so the cage held a smaller bird equally well. 

Like a canary. He had let it get away last night. Draco remembered thinking that it was as good as dead, but still it escaped. He had practically sent it away. His eyelashes flickered down for a moment, remembering shame. 

He had written to his father the day they had studied thestrals in class. He couldn't recall exactly what he had said, but when he thought of the letter he saw himself gloating, thinking about having Hagrid leave for good. 

His father had not replied. Draco had then written a second letter, leaving out thestrals and Hagrid. Only then did his father's owl arrive, with a response that ignored Draco's first letter completely.

When Draco arrived home that summer, a paddock had been built in the center of his Quidditch pitch. Father had walked him out to it and, smiling, asked him if he liked his gift. Draco had smelt the bloody stench of raw meat on the air and he had seen a carcass pulled apart my invisible jaws. 

And he had told Father that he loved it. The point was clear, could not have been clearer had his Father locked him in with the beast. Draco had walked away that day ashamed, seeking death.

The thestral had made him wonder why he had not looked for it before. It wasn't fear. He knew fear just well enough to recognize its taste. And he hadn't cared enough for the bird spy to spare it, that was true. 

But he hadn't hated it either. It had seen what he saw his whole life and was allowed to live through. Draco had crushed it and thought of his father, and imagined crushing himself. 

He shrugged on a clean robe. It would have to be clean, after all, before he found and killed Harry Potter.

One of the Muggle women came in as Draco was opening the cage.

Looking at her for a second time, Harry saw that she was closer to a girl. A bird's view distorted things dramatically, but now the childish, fawn-colored hair and the rounded cheeks became evident. She couldn't have been more than ten, perhaps eleven. 

Draco looked at her idly. "What do you want- or, I suppose, what does Father want for you to want?"

She smiled quietly with eyes cast downward. "My name is Rebecca." Harry saw then that she rarely blinked. Perhaps Lucius had forgotten that. Her eyes were round and watery even while she smiled. And blank, always blank. 

"Is it, now?" Draco seemed tired. He closed the cage, and the girl looked up at the sound. 

"Yes." 

"Well, Rebecca, tell Uncle Lucius that Draco doesn't want to play." Draco gazed intently at Harry through the cage bars before turning his head back to look at her. His eyes never quite met hers, but glanced at her small hands and the tears in her dress. "It's late and Draco is tired of his games."

"But I'm not tired. I 'd like to play with you, please."

"You'll have to..." Draco trailed off voice sinking into a low purr in his chest. He slid a finger through the bars and Harry pecked feebly at it. He could barely hear their words anymore. 

It was enough to draw blood. Draco looked satisfied at this. He withdrew his finger and then flicked the latch open. Harry found himself lifted out of the cage and shoved towards the girl.

"Here. You like birds, don't you? I saw you looking at it. Take it. Whatever you do, just...just leave me alone." Harry was suddenly cupped in gentler hands. The girl giggled with him up against her cheek and skipped away. 

Stunned, Harry looked back at Draco from over her shoulder. He had sunk into a chair, head in the nook of an arm, and he looked somehow weaker than Harry had ever seen him. 

But why?

He did not have time to think about. The girl had reached a door, another door. A door, Harry realized, that must lead to the inn. It was shaking slightly on its hinges but gave no sound to show it. 

'If only,' he begged. 'Open it, please, just turn the handle-'

She turned the handle. Harry felt as if his heart might burst. The door opened slowly and soundlessly under her hands. 

Standing there, mouth open, was Zacharias Smith. 

There were deep circles under his eyes, and he gaped for a few moments at the girl, Rebecca. 

A high, shrill scream came from the sitting room, and the empty sound of slow clapping. Pain burst where his scar should have been and Harry screamed. The sound was disjointed in a bird's throat, but came through clear; the girl's eyes flickered closed and opened, and she dropped him in fright. 

He wanted to comfort her. Zacharias was making shouting motions through the doorframe- he couldn't seem to get through. Neither could sound. Harry could do nothing. 

Recovering, she picked him up again, but her eyes were half-closed. She saw Zacharias through the door, and rushed towards him but could not pass through. 

She passed Harry through the door instead. He shuddered in her palms and his blood yellow feathers came away in her fingers. 

Zacharias had rougher hands. Harry could hear him screaming, screaming for Becca, but now she was the silent one. Harry saw her eyes fall closed. When they opened, they were blank once again.

He remembered feeling tears as he fainted. It was the last thing he could recall. 

Clearly, it was morning now. The sunlight was warm against his face, and it made him feel drowsy and safe, but uncomforted. Harry glanced around blindly for a while and then fumbled for his glasses. 

Zacharias was sleeping on a bed across the room, on top of the sheets rather than under them. The trunk, books, and broomstick that Harry had left back on Privet Drive were stacked neatly at the end of the bed. Hedwig's cage sat up on the table, and Hedwig herself blinked sleepily at him from within it. Harry looked away. 

Canary feathers were left strewn across the floor; Harry picked some out of his hair and sat up. He brushed a hand across his ribs and found that they were healed.  

What had happened? Morning noises came from the pub downstairs: a clattering of silverware, voices from the kitchen. A faint smell of eggs in the air meant breakfast. Yet he could not focus on the present, which was odd, since...

...the pain was gone in his scar. Startled, Harry rubbed it with his thumb. 

As it was, the pain was not all that was gone. 

His scar was gone...his scar was...

He didn't know whether or not to laugh or scream. His forehead was smooth and uninterrupted by lightning, and he wondered, he wondered-

He wandered numbly towards the door. When he reached to open it, he did it carefully, and then waved his arm through it to be sure there was nothing hidden there. 

And there was the closed door, just down the hall. An elaborate "Malfoy" was carved just above the doorknob, which gave off the hazy golden glow of a charm. Most likely several.

Abruptly, there was a hiss behind him, and then he was yanked forcibly backwards and out of the doorway. He stumbled over his feet and fell with his back flat on the floor. 

Zacharias flung the door shut and then rounded on him. "What the hell was that, Potter? Trying to bloody get yourself killed? Well, you got pretty damn close, I can tell you," he snarled. 

"Has the world become paranoid while I wasn't looking?" Harry laid back and looked up at Zacharias through his fringe. "What was that for? I can take care of myself, thanks, I don't need you for a body guard."

Zacharias seemed just about ready to kick him. "This is the thanks I get," he said angrily. "Look at you- sacrificing everything that Professor Lupin has been doing for you. He t you out of that place and when he managed to get over here after I found you, he healed you, and set up extra wards around this room." He sneered. "Some hero you are."

"_Shut up," Harry snapped. "You don't understand what the hell you talk about! I never asked to be here- I was supposed to go to room twelve-"_

Zacharias sighed. "This _is _room twelve, at the end. But rather than come straight here, you had to wander around with Malfoys. I waited here for hours."

"Which reminds me," Harry interjected. "Why were you standing there when she opened the door?"

His face darkened with a sharp, crazed smile. "Ah, and now we come to another fine point. Harry is not the only one in this idiot world that can suffer."

"What does that-"

"Shh. We're in enemy territory. This is war. They take captives. Beyond that pretty door is a pair of monsters and then, a happy little family. That is, three-fourths of one." He laughed, a horrible sound. "And standing here with you is the rest of it."

Harry's mouth went terribly dry. 

"Sickening, isn't it?"

"Why- why don't you do something, get someone to help you save them?"

Zacharias closed his eyes. "That's what you would do, isn't it? Don't think I haven't tried. And Lupin tried, too- they have up wards, but stronger and more permanent than the ones we have. They bought off the innkeeper years ago, and he gave them his word and that room. You have to be one of a few very specific people to get through that door."

This baffled Harry. "But I got through- she pushed me through the door."

Zacharias shrugged. "Maybe they're holding out on you just wandering into their evil clutches. 

"I seem to have done that anyway," Harry replied darkly.

"Whatever it is, you're one lucky sod." A knock came from the door. Zacharias drew his wand as he went to open it. 

But it was only Professor Lupin. He walked in and Zacharias moved to shut the door. 

"No, don't bother, Zacharias. It's time for breakfast, and I wouldn't know when Harry last had a decent meal. Which reminds me," he looked towards Harry. "Feeling all right? You had some nasty breaks. Though, I did managed to get a Healer to put a numbing spell on that scar of yours." 

"So that's why..." Lupin looked at him queerly. Harry ran a hand across his forehead. "I woke up this morning and thought that something had gone wrong and my scar was gone." Zacharias snorted.

"No, it's there. Come look in the mirror, Harry- you see? You still have your scar. Perhaps it's just that the pain is gone now, and you had gotten used to it?" Yes, the scar was still there. Harry could see the faint bolt of lightning etched there, where it had always been. 

"Perhaps," he said slowly. Lupin smiled, and then gestured at the door. 

"Let's get breakfast then. Zacharias, do you-"

"No, thanks, Professor. I'll stay."

"If that's what you want, then. Harry, get your invisibility cloak, would you?" 

Together, they made their way down the stairs. Tom was serving breakfast and he eyed Lupin as he walked past, seemingly alone. When he finally greeted him, his voice was not quite as friendly as Harry remembered it. 

Once outside the wall, Lupin allowed Harry to take off the cloak. They made their way down to a little café that the Lupin said was usually quiet in the mornings. 

"I hope so," Harry replied. The door gave a tinkling symphony of notes as it opened, rather than the single ring of a Muggle café. They stepped in. "I think I've had enough of my share of excitement."

Later, as Draco took his tea, he spied a yellow canary feather in Harry Potter's hair.


	4. Chapter 4 No Devil Lived On

Chapter 4 

He looked away. 

Hours passed by in the blink of an eye- but it was still morning, still bright on Diagon Alley and the little café. Harry watched Malfoy walk past through the window and couldn't help but feel as if he had been discovered; but of course, that was unlikely. 

Wasn't it?

Still, when they left a cold shiver ran down the back of his neck and the length of his spine. He saw blond flashes that were really tricks of the light, and perhaps his mind, but he didn't mention any of this to Lupin as they ran their errands. 

Once he was sure that he heard a whisper in his ear, three simple words, but when he turned his head there was nothing there. It left him winded and searching for something he couldn't see.

Rather, it came to him. 

Lupin steered him towards Madam Malkin's after they had paid a visit to Fred and George.

"Watch your back," they had told him. "We saw Malfoy by here earlier."

"You don't have to tell me twice," he had replied. 

He hadn't told them about the incident with the creams, or anything about his arrival and the night before. They hadn't asked but had suspected him, Harry was certain.

But it wasn't until he found himself staring into Robes for All Occasions that he was forced to face what must have been inevitable.

"Go on, Harry. Let me buy you some new dress robes- you're going to need them." Harry gave him a quizzical look, but Lupin was focused on a rack lined with various clothes and did not answer. Madam Malkin had greeted him then, so he could not escape. 

Lupin handed him a few galleons as he left. "I'll wait for you outside, all right? You take care of yourself now,"

Madam Malkin was trying to coax Harry into green velvet when Draco Malfoy strode out of a back room. 

"This color doesn't suit me," he said, raking Harry over lazily with his eyes. The shopkeeper looked up from her velvet, glancing at the sleek red cloth in Draco's arms, and then turned back to Harry. 

"Then let him try it. You're near the same size, I reckon," she said. "And really, Mr. Malfoy, you needn't be so choosy- I'll simply have to check our stores in the back." She hurried off.

There was something faint in Draco's eyes, which had never strayed. 'Are we sharing a smile?' Harry wondered suddenly. "Can you catch, Potter, or have you lost all skill as a seeker while I had my back turned?" He tossed the robes over- Harry snatched them away just before they hit his face.

"You would wish that, wouldn't you, Malfoy?" Harry said roughly. "Or else you'd never manage to win the Cup."

"Now, now, Potter. I've got things more important to take care of than Quidditch victories."

Harry laughed. "Like being a Death Eater? Supporting Voldemort and your father in their plans?"

Draco recoiled a little, though the expression on his face remained unchanged. "Don't say that."

"You'll never change, Malfoy. You were a frightened little Death Eater before and you still are! Just following along like a sick little dog, is that how it is? Don't deny it. Voldemort-"

"Shut the hell up," Draco said softly, under his breath.

"How loud do I have to scream it, then? Voldemort! _Voldemort, VOLDEMORT you bloody fuck!"_

In a single feline movement, Draco lunged for him. Harry drew his wand with lightning rapidity but Draco knocked it away. Their collision sent Harry backwards into the rack; it collapsed and all Harry could see, plunging backwards, was a storm of fabric. It was almost hypnotic, a shower of colors that caught on the air like new fallen snow. Unlike anything he had ever seen.

When it all finally settled, both he and Draco were submerged. Harry was gasping for breath, fear constricting his throat. A jade green cloth that felt like rough silk had fallen across his eyes. Draco thumbed a corner of it and, doing so, just grazed Harry's cheek; his touch was icy and recalled a place above the clouds.

"Finally, the right cloth. No," He slipped a hand over Harry's mouth. "Don't you dare say that again, Potter. I mean threats when I give them. I might've killed you last night."

"You knew," Harry tried to say, but it was difficult to form words under Draco's fingers. All he could see was green, but he heard the hiss of cloth against cloth and the distant humming of Madam Malkin in the back room, and Draco's voice dominated the foreground. The fingers of Draco's left hand pressed lightly into his throat, a mock-strangulation. Draco's voice, Draco's lips. And when the silence came, Draco's breath that seemed to mute his own. 

"How'd you like my acting, Potter? You always thought I was psychotic; I knew it would fool you. I've gotten better since third year, wouldn't you say?" Draco was enjoying this, Harry realized; it woke him out of whatever idiotic..._stupor he had fallen into. He shoved the hand away. _

But then his arms were pinned to the ground; Harry struggled and the cloth slid off one eye. "Get off me, what do you think you're doing, Malfoy? GET OFF!"

Draco sneered. "You think you're so great, but what is this? No wand, no self-defense; are you enjoying this as much as I am?" 

"More," he said between clenched teeth. 

"You had got feathers in your hair, Potter. How disgustingly predictable of you. And there, my wand? Do you see me holding it in my hand?"

"No."

"Do you feel it brushing your scar?"

"Yes."

"Then, surprise- you're going to die Potter."

Harry felt his wand at his fingertips and retrieved it to jab at Draco's heart. "_Reducto__!"_

Draco barely knew what happened. A pain flew through his chest and out the other side like an arrow fired at close range. He cried out and pushed himself backwards, off Potter, only to fall to his knees three feet away. His eyes were wide and his mouth parted slightly in shock. 

He had pulled the cloth from Harry's eyes in the process. Now, it was clutched in his fist and pressed against his chest and the pain. Looking down on it, he was afraid to let go of it and see. It swept the floor beneath him, tangled between his knees. 

He drew it away. Harry made for the door, not wanting to watch death again. 

He never made it out. There was blood on the cloth and Harry saw Draco's eyes roll back as he fell forward. With his hand on the doorknob and Madam Malkin whistling nearby, Harry watched and wondered what the hell he had done. 

Then he returned, working quickly, but it seemed that Draco would not wake. Swearing, Harry grabbed one arm and slung it over his shoulder. Though Draco was thin, it was difficult moving with limp legs dragging on the floor behind them, and dead weight is more ominous than weight otherwise. 

Harry swore every curse he knew, and then swore them all again, a constant muttering under his breath. They made it to the door. Getting his invisibility cloak across the both of them was a difficult operation, with Draco propped against his back. He was forced to master an awkward sort of flick with the cloak between his teeth. 

But somehow he managed, and afterwards when they walked by Lupin, unnoticed, Harry's heartbeat and restless breath sounded together and the excitement set him at ease.

After all, action was his expertise.

Draco opened his eyes blurrily. 

Harry was asleep in on a couch nearby, next to Zacharias Smith, a player Draco recognized from the Hufflepuff team. 

Lying on his stomach, Draco felt suffocated by his own body heat. He could not focus, but there was that lolling motion of the wand, like driftwood rocked by the sea; he held onto it as if shipwrecked and no one else would come along. Meanwhile, Zacharias was studying him quietly, rolling his wand back and forth in his fingers.

"You awake?" he heard, but it was as changeful and erratic as a fitful dream. Sound shifted in and out and sometimes seemed like a roar in his ears. Other times the world was entirely too silent.

"Hello, are you awake? I can see your eyes open, like slits." A dull pain in his heart. 

"When did I become some sort of caretaker? First Harry, and now, you. I don't know why I bother." He breathed so damn loud. Like a windstorm. Draco wondered if he would go deaf. He groaned and stirred and the heat broke around him. 

"You don't deserve anything of this. Harry practically killed himself getting you here, and then trying to heal you. That's decency, you arse. Though I suppose I'd never say that to his face." _Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop._

But it would not stop. "So has your father killed them yet? My family, that is. I'm just trying to make conversation, so make an effort if you would; I haven't got anything else to banter about." Draco thought of the scream.

"Hmm. You feel ill, is that it? Well, then. I don't bloody care."

Draco's tongue was dry in his mouth. When he spoke his words were parched and dry. "Yes..."

"What?" asked Zacharias sharply. 

"They...my father...they were killed..."

Zacharias went so pale. He stood up with his hands hidden away in his pockets; they were shaking. 

 "He...he didn't want to...quarantined...they amused him, but I told him that I would kill them for him...spared them..."

"_Spared them shit!" he spat. He flew to his feet and threw down the wand, his shoulders trembling. "Get out! I don't care if Harry's noble- I'm not and I feel none of his bloody _pity_ for you! I'll give you last chance before I kill you, I swear I will, I-" _

He stopped with his eyes still glowing with rage. They quickly went unfocused, empty, carefree. 

Draco lowered his wand. "Go home," he said softly. "Your family will be along soon." Zacharias smiled hollowly and left. 

Draco watched; the Smith family would never come home, only Zacharias. 

Slats of light came through the blinds and the room was lit a deep golden brown.  Harry slept on. Draco rounded on him, sitting down where Zacharias' body warmth still lingered. He leant over and whispered into Harry's ear, swaying slightly, and then planted one hand near Harry's knee for balance. 

"Did you see that, Potter?" he began, barely audible. "I gave your friend a Memory Charm and sent him on his way. I spared him." He brushed the hair away from Harry's eyes with unsteady fingers. "And perhaps I'll spare you one last time, what do you say?" A pause. "You're much more companionable when you're asleep, Potter. You can't disagree with me. No, the world would be better place if people agreed with me more." 

He felt on the brink of collapse and Harry's breath along the line of his throat. "Why don't you speak your mind, Potter?" Another pause. "I'll spare you, I'll spare you...I'm saving your life, does that mean you're in my debt?" A weak laugh. "But only this time. I never go back on my word. 

"_Obliviate__."_

Harry slept on, and Draco rose. A gold watch gleamed in Harry's pocket and, intrigued, Draco took it. It swung open precariously just as he was about to put it away; he glimpsed black hair, a minute hand, and a frown before flipping it shut. 

Before flipping the door shut as well. 

"Be ready next time, Potter."


	5. Chapter 5 Don't Nod

Chapter 5

HARRY'S PACKING LIST prepared by HERMIONE GRANGER

- Enough clothing for a week's stay (I would've been more specific, but I don't really know your particular dressing habits or anything, Harry.)

- Toothbrush

- Toothpaste

- Hairbrush 

- SCHOOLWORK (Just because you're visiting me doesn't mean you should forget your studies. Ron forgot his books at home...I had to Floo over the get them. Honestly)

- Pillow (Crookshanks won't let us get anywhere near the ones in our house)

- Anything you might need for Hogwarts next year

- Hedwig, her cage and supplies 

- Your broomstick

- Come to think of it, just bring everything. It's the last week after all. Don't forget- Not even your SCHOOLWORK. 

Harry smiled. The letter was just like Hermione. Looking over the list, he thought he'd done her justice; there were neat checkmarks next to each item, or as neat as he could make them, and his trunk was repacked with everything he could think of; yes, even his schoolwork for the summer though, like Ron, he'd been tempted to leave his books behind. 

A soft knock at the door woke him back to his senses. "You quite ready yet, Harry?"

"Nearly," Harry replied, staring at the list with a frown. "I'm getting the feeling that I've...forgotten something."

Lupin chuckled. "Don't we all? But, let's see- have you got your broom?"

Glancing at it, Harry nodded. The Firebolt was stowed away with all his other things, laid exactly between his trunk and Hedwig's perch. 

He had thrown out the cage. 

"All your clothes? And the dress robes that you bought last month."

Dress robes...Harry stopped at this, puzzled. The day was clear in his mind. He had gone to see Madam Malkin, yes, browsed through her selection, and had his measurements retaken...but where were the robes he would naturally have bought afterwards?

Across the room, Zacharias crossed his arms and noted the pause. Ever since that day when he'd found himself in Muggle London, the streetlights making the alleys seem greasy and the company greasier, he had been searching...searching for an answer, he supposed, to that missing afternoon. But there no sure solution, or question, for that matter. The only thing he could be certain of was that his memory had been altered. And so had Harry's, or so it seemed; Zacharias had watched him, looking on from a distance for a hint of what might have happened that afternoon.

Harry himself knew nothing, and Zacharias had no intention of telling him. "I...didn't like anything I saw there, I suppose," said Harry slowly. There was concentration in his eyes, looking inward. "I decided not to buy anything."

Lupin stood framed in the doorway. "It's not like you to care much about fashion, Harry," he said. "Not trying to impress anyone, are we?"

"What?" Harry looked up, eyes narrowed. He closed his trunk with a soft click. "Of course not. What gave you that idea? I swear, Rita Skeeter and her bloody lies were bad enough."

"Lies, were they?" mused Zacharias aloud. "And there I was, taking her word for divine truths." Lupin suppressed a laugh.

"Haha," said Harry thickly. "I can't believe you two."

"Thou shalt not steal," Zacharias intoned. "Thou shalt readeth of Harry Potter's love life and secret affairs with Hermione Granger."

"For the _last time, Hermione is only my friend! Really, Ron has more of claim than I do, if anything." Harry flushed. "He probably wouldn't want me to tell you that."_

Zacharias rubbed his hands together with apparent zeal. "Too late."

Lupin coughed loudly. "Err...right then, Harry, I suppose you could borrow a pair of my robes..."

Harry ignored him, eyes flashing and fixed on Zacharias. "I've had it with you! What is it? Are you mad at me? Do I annoy you?" 

Zacharias eyed him mildly. "You get angry so easily, Harry. It's interesting to watch." 

Harry fumed. 

"You know what, Zacharias? You're nearly as bad as Malfoy!" he spat. Zacharias looked unaffected. "That's not a good thing!"

"Ah," said Zacharias, rooting a box of Every Flavor Beans out of his pocket and focusing his attentions towards it. "Yes, I know," he continued without looking at Harry. "If you've forgotten, you aren't the only one with qualms against him, Canary Potter." 

"Of course I know! How can even talk like that, make it sound so- so...you don't even sound like you care at all!"

Zacharias looked up at this, putting down his sweets and tilting his head upwards towards him. There was an emotion there that made Harry uneasy just seeing it. Made him want to squirm under that gaze. He held out looking away only because he thought it could end- that Zacharias could begin to drawl and perhaps say predictable things and throw insults and...

'No,' Harry realized with a start. 'That would be Draco.'

And it was then that Zacharias blushed faintly and snarled, "I don't need to take this from you," throwing himself off the couch and out of the room. Harry didn't watch him leave, feeling somehow dazed. 

He made to go after him. Lupin went suddenly into control, grabbing his arm. 

"What! Are you on his side now, too?" said Harry angrily, wrenching his arm away.  

Lupin shook his head wearily. "There is no your side or his side, Harry." He eased the door closed soundly with a click. "Calm down, give him some time to himself." 

"He can have it," Harry spat. 

Hand still on the doorknob, Lupin peered closely at him. "When did you get like this, Harry? I wouldn't have expected this sort of behavior out of you. I thought at least you could understand."

Harry's face darkened. "He started it, bringing up those rumors."

"And you took it personally." 

"So what if I did? I have to deal with that- that  _crap_ enough as it is."

"Because that's your life, Harry." Lupin sighed, rubbing his temples. "You can't help it, but it is. And you have to deal with that."

"What if I don't want to?" Harry shouted suddenly, losing his temper. "What if I'm sick of all this murder and this-"

"You didn't try to stop their murder, did you?" came a voice from the door, opened again. Zacharias had returned, his eyes oddly red but dry and tearless. He spoke in a harsh whisper, though his face remained effortlessly expressionless, as always. "Bit selfish of you, really." Lupin looked worried.

"Not now, Zacharias. Go, get ready to leave."

"So it matters what I say, but not what he does," he sneered in return. 

"Shut up!" Harry yelled. Lupin grabbed his arm again, and his grip was surprisingly firm- Harry could not break free, no matter how much he struggled. His fingers curled naturally into fists. "Shut the hell up!"

"Get ready to leave, Zacharias," said Lupin harshly. "_Now."_

"LET GO OF ME-"

"Stop it, Harry, are you mad-"

"Where," said Zacharias loudly. "-the bloody hell did you get the idea that I was coming with you?"

Lupin seemed startled but Harry, still incensed, continued to struggle. 

"But, Zacharias- Harry, _stop will you? - _I thought...-where can you go?"

Zacharias laughed and tugged at his ear, as he had a habit of doing. "Why should you care? I can look after myself."

And then the door had closed behind him, the little gust it caused blowing softly in Harry's face. 

Good morning, Father.

Yes, yes. What do you want? [_Closes door quickly behind him. Draco sees something]_

I- what, who...who is that? 

[_Curtly] __Keep to your own business Draco. _

I thought you said you were going to let them free, Father. 

I decided I hadn't tired of the girl yet. What was it you wished to tell me?

[_Hesitantly] __I've got to go back home for awhile. A few days. _

Is that so? 

Yes.

Any reason?

I've got to...throw a party. 

Charming, charming. Entertaining your housemates, I suppose? 

I'll see you in a few days then- [_Makes to leave_]

Come back here, Draco. Open the drapes- yes, thank you. Sit down a moment, speak to me. Good, good- tell me, Draco- what do you think of when I say Harry Potter?

[_Instantly, almost thoughtlessly] Madame Malkin's._

[_Comfortably.__ He relaxes faintly] Hmm, where you first met him, is it? Very well. Run along then, enjoy your- _party_. Go on. _

Goodbye Father.

Adieu. 


	6. Chapter 6 Drawn Inward

Chapter 6

Harry found it odd to have nice dreams. They were a rarity in his case, almost a luxury that he could ill-afford, but now they seemed to be the only kind he had. 

One night he found himself in a field of crimson flowers and the next, a room so filled with great black dogs that all he could see were wagging tails and lapping tongues. He remembered spending time at the beach and playing in the sand with his mother and father. Beating Malfoy at Quidditch. Leading a trek through the jungle. A thousand different things that ranged from mildly pleasant to his very desires. 

He could not understand it. Sometimes he woke up smiling but smiling had seemed utterly useless; meaningless, really. Whenever he had dreamt before, it had meant something, signaled something, or else brought along some benevolent pain. Dreams were supposed to make things clear. 

But these didn't, and it confused him, made him wake to run his fingers searchingly across his scar. Now even his scar gave him no more warnings. Occasionally he wondered if he wanted to have the pain back- at least pain was he could recognize and deal with. An Unforgivable was one thing, but helplessness? 

He wondered which one he would rather face. 

"That's hardly reassuring," said Lupin, startling Harry as he wandered absentmindedly towards the fire. 

"What is?" said Harry, shifting his trunk nervously against his hip. Had he been speaking out loud? 

"Don't go in yet." Lupin crouched down, looking at the fire. A handful of Floo Powder remained unused in his hands, though Harry had already thrown in his own. "See? It should have turned green."

Harry peered at it. It was true- rather than green, the fire that lit their room's fireplace had turned a pale, fitful blue, like the heart of a particularly strong flame. "Does it matter? We're already running late, like you said."

"I'm not sure," said Lupin as he sifted the Floo Powder from hand to hand. "This hasn't happened before. And I was already having doubts about leaving without Zacharias..."

Harry snorted. "He was the sod who ran off."

"I'm responsible for him, at least until term starts. We don't know where he could have gone."

"He'll turn up."

Lupin glanced down at his watch. "I suppose. I guess we'll have to risk it- get that bag? Thank you," he replied as Harry handed him his familiar brown briefcase. "Go in, Harry. I'll be right behind you if anything goes wrong- which I don't think will."

Harry hitched the trunk up further and stepped into the fire. The flames felt oddly cold and it made him nervous. 

"Professor Lupin, I-,"

"Go! Before the Powder burns out." But saying this, Lupin still seemed uncertain. He opened his mouth again as if to continue but shut it quickly. 

"Nine Mortmain Hills!" 

"Nine Mortmain Hills!"

"Harry, I'm-"

But Harry was already gone. Lupin stared after him, doing nothing for the moment; his mouth was parted slightly and filled with the words he meant to say. 

He swallowed them entirely before entering the fire with his eyes fallen closed, as seemed to come naturally these days. Without anyone there, without _Harry there, watching, he allowed a certain shattered slant to his shoulders and the way he tipped his head. He could relax and uncoil until all the strings seemed to come undone, and the scraps they held together bore less and less of a resemblance to a man. _

But then he shook the hair out of his eyes and opened them again; the scraps were painfully gathered back together, as scraps are, and there was that familiar form in the fireplace, faintly recognizable as the Remus Lupin from better times. The flames lit smoky shadows in his face. 

He murmured "Nine Mortmain Hills" and waited for everything to fall apart. 

Harry stumbled out of the fire, expecting to see Hermione, perhaps Ron, and a home that he always imagined as a toned-down Privet Drive. There would be that organization, rather than Aunt Petunia's fanatic perfectionism, and neat bookcases filled with neat tomes of neat, stately books that Hermione would have read. The perfect, ordered family. 

What he saw was a cavernous hall that was barely lit by a fire that could be considered roaring in normal conditions. The darkness seemed infinite. 

'The odd Floo Powder,' was Harry's first thought. His immediate reaction was to whip out his wand, brandishing it in front of him like a stunted sword. 'It must have been tampered with...'

But what could he do? 'Professor Lupin will be coming,' he thought, but felt guilty for wanting to bring him into the danger. Since this was danger, wasn't it? It had to be. 

There was nothing to do but wait, wand held at the ready and all his senses heightened and alert. Soon, the darkness began to recede. It took only a while longer to realize that the room, which had seemed impossibly large before, was actually no bigger than, perhaps, the Potion's dungeons. The darkness was oddly deceiving. 

After a few tense seconds, Harry began to make out dim shapes. Warily, he moved towards them, keeping one hand trailing along the wall. Whatever they were there were stacks of them; some had been propped against the wall like tremendous storage boxes. Although he made slow progress, Harry soon managed to reach the nearest one. 

It was slightly longer than he was tall. He stretched out a tentative hand and ran his fingers along it to find that the wood was polished and smooth. A little more exploration told him the box was widest where it was level with his shoulders and then narrowed down to the base. With a start, Harry realized what it was and recoiled, clutching his hand to his chest. His steps backward from the coffin were jerky and stiff, nearly causing him to trip before he had reached the fireplace. 

That was where he knocked into Lupin. The older man cried out and stumbled back with one foot still in the fire. He threw out a hand just in time to catch himself, gripping the mantle. 

Hurriedly, Harry pulled him back up. "Professor! We've got to leave, it isn't safe here! That Floo Powder must have been tampered with or something because-"

"Harry-"

"We haven't got the time!" Harry shouted, almost excitedly. "You can Apparate, and I'll wait here? - or we can make a Portkey. I saw Dumbledore do it last year-"

"Harry." Lupin looked pained, his eyes flashing back and forth from Harry's face and the fire. "Slow down."

"We can't afford to slow down. Unless," Harry laughed. "You meant to bring us here." This time Lupin's eyes remained on the fire. Seeing this, Harry faltered. "Professor? You- this isn't Hermione's house- was there some sort of...change of plans that you forgot to tell me about?" 

Lupin straightened his shoulders, sorting himself out. "There was no change of plans, Harry." He sounded guilty, as if waiting for himself to be chastened. "This is where the Floo Powder was meant to take us."

"I-I...I don't understand-"

"That was the point." 'No, no,' Harry thought, dreading, 'This can't be happening, not again...' But what if it was? Lupin hunched forward with his forehead against his supporting hand, peering up at Harry through his weathered features. Harry didn't want to believe treachery of the man he called a mentor, but being wrong again, letting trust get in the way; it could only be called foolishness. "But let me explain."

"Where are we?" said Harry, maintaining calm. 

Lupin sighed heavily. His eyes were closed again and Harry felt betrayed by this, among other things- so many things were more than met the eye. "You're standing in a coffin maker's workshop. The...man, himself, won't be about now, considering that its still day outside. A...vampire." 

Harry said nothing, not wanting to believe what he heard. He forced himself to anyway. Sometimes distrust got you farther than shining faith ever would.

Lupin looked uncomfortable. "But we won't be dealing with him. I just planned to pass through."

"You're talking like a traitor, Professor."

The expression in Lupin's face suggested that he had been struck. He swallowed once before replying, "You'll have to take my word that I'm not, for now. Put on your invisibility cloak if it makes you feel any more secure. Or- we could turn back."

"Just- just tell me where we're going. Give me reason to believe that this isn't some trap. I'm sick of traps." 

"When have I given you reason to distrust me, Harry?" asked Lupin, his voice low, as if speaking took the life out of him. 

"There's a first time for everything." It felt almost like...kicking a dog that was already down, but Harry did not waver. He even _hoped that he looked imposing, his wand a burnished red-brown in the firelight, and he wanted the truth. "Tell me, or we're turning back and I'll find Hermione's house on my own."_

Lupin sighed. "The...Malfoy Estate."

Harry became silent, worrying his lower lip. "The _Malfoy_ Estate," he repeated.

"I'll explain. After Lucius Malfoy was taken in to Azkaban, his wife disappeared- to France, we expect, she's said to have acquaintances there. Draco hasn't been since term ended- until his father escaped, and we located them both in The Leaky Cauldron."

"What? Are we raiding their china collection? Painting graffiti on their walls?" said Harry. "What does it matter?"

"The ministry seized their lands for a search- they're trying to uncover anything pointing towards what Voldemort has planned. Of course, other Death eater homes are getting the same treatment, but Fudge has a personal grudge against the Malfoy name, for now.  The search hasn't rooted out much as of yet."

"Malfoy...I mean, Draco could have taken anything worth finding."

"Perhaps. Or Narcissa." Harry nodded. "But they're still looking; I think they've nearly covered the entire place, and afterwards it's going to be demolished." 

"I still don't understand what this has to do with you. With any of this...not telling me things and misleading me?" Harry never meant to let that coldness creep into his voice, but it was there, tangible, and Lupin felt it too. 

"There'll be a ceremony." His words were hollow. "Fudge will be there to preside over it, a big gala event with near all the Ministry there, and he wants you, too. He's gotten pressure to acknowledge your contributions publicly."

It wasn't what Harry expected. "But-"

"I didn't like the idea. They said they got all the spells in the area down, but I don't think that it's safe for you to wander into enemy territory. We don't know what kind of traps Voldemort might have set out for you. _Will have set out for you." He sat down on Harry's toppled trunk, eyes closed as if all he wanted was rest. And Harry wanted to pity him for it, but Lupin would not take pity- yet, who was the leader, now? Age no longer took precedence; it seemed that Lupin was incapable of it, and that Harry, leader by nature, could only step in and take his place. It was only another troubling sign that Lupin no longer seemed to care._

"Professor..." Harry began, but whatever he meant to say ended quickly. He had to get the truth. "I'm here, you must have changed your mind."

"Fudge insisted. There was nothing I could say to convince him otherwise...but then he assured me that there would be safety measures put in place." Lupin paused. "I knew from the start that you wouldn't like them, but they had to do. He wouldn't have it any other way." His eyes flickered open for a moment. "I only did what I thought would be best. I had to bring you, I even thought I'd hold out from telling you until we were at the gates- but I guess that fell through."

"What's the worst Fudge could do? Hire some guards, cast some shielding spells?" 

The answer never came. A door opened at the other end of the hall, letting in a flood of daylight that blinded them entirely. Harry wanted to charge but could only cover his eyes, the light was so overpowering. Although his wand was still in his other hand it could be no use if he couldn't see. 

"I thought I heard voices down here," said a hard female voice. Harry peered between his fingers, blinking. A woman stood in the doorway, the light behind her throwing her form into silhouette. "Is- is that you, Remus? What're you doing back here?"

Lupin recovered before Harry did, rising from the trunk with his hands on his knees. Assuming authority. "Paying a visit to the Malfoy Estate." 

"The Malfoy Estate," she said, unsurprised. "Why, did your mother-"

"No."

She sniffed. "You don't have to be so damn curt with me, Remus Lupin. Look at this, getting me sidetracked- move your arses over here before Master Hoch realizes I had the door open."

"Come on, Harry," said Lupin, lifting the trunk. Harry remained unmoved. 

"You haven't finished talking. I'm not coming until I hear everything." 

The woman marched down the stairs and into his face in a remarkably short amount of time. Harry caught a glimpse of short, fawn-brown hair and a flair of loose-cut robes. "Who are you to try to make me lose my job? Or, rather, my life as well- Hoch has got a bloody bad temper and pointy teeth to go with it. Get up here or my boot will do it for you." 

Apparently, the kick that followed was only a demonstration. Harry climbed the stairs, seething a bit, but voiced no other complaint. 

They emerged into a showroom that attempted to be sophisticated but failed. There were contradictions everywhere, from the paneled walls made of a dark wood, perhaps mahogany, to the battered edges of their oriental rugs. Disgruntled, Harry found himself ushered down a narrow corridor and out a backdoor. 

Someone had set out an old armchair by the door. It was worn around the edges and had gone concave to fit the human form; cigarette burns had become more of a pattern than the flowered upholstery, which had once been pink and green but was now a feeble muddle of both. The woman sank down into it and camouflaged instantly. 

She speared a cigarette out of her shirt pocket. It lit at once. Holding it between two fingers, she admired it for a moment before sticking it between her lips and inhaling. 

"The things they think of now." She grinned. "How've you been, Remus?"

He and Harry stood awkwardly at the door, busy supporting their various bags. "Look, Lynn, now isn't the greatest time to chat about the past, but perhaps later."

"Who said we were going to chat?" she scoffed, blowing spirals of smoke that condensed themselves into dragons and chuffing gnomes. "I demand from you an afternoon for tea, an explanation, and an assurance that that boy you've got _isn't your son."_

"No, no, of course not," said Lupin mildly. "He belongs to James."

"And Lily, too, I hope?" She studied him, mouth turned into a quirky little sneer. "He doesn't do them justice." 

At this, Harry felt himself flush, but said nothing, though his fingers trembled whitely where they clenched his wand. Lupin intervened.

"Now, really, Lynn. Don't be bringing your opinions into this. Harry and I had better be leaving, but I promise you- you can quote me on this-"

"I will."

"-that you will get that afternoon in the near future. I'm in town." He smiled too pleasantly, Harry thought through narrowed eyes while wringing his wand, for someone talking to such an unpleasant woman. 

Distracted by this as they left, skirting an alleyway to emerge on to a larger road, it was quite some time before Harry remembered his original purpose. 

"I don't suppose you're ready to continue, now, are you?" he said coldly, sidestepping a street sign. There was little other pedestrian traffic to contend with, even at this time of day, and the shops here were not as spirited and friendly as those in Diagon Alley. Every structure seemed geometric and measured, the buildings neither looming over the street nor presenting a distant distraction. The streets were carefully cobbled and catching your feet between the stones was an implausible, no, unthinkable affair. The only smell on the air was a non-committal half-scent that could have been any number of things, but wasn't. It made Harry feel almost...unnatural, and he had never been so conscious about the state of his hair, which he had long since given up on. 

Lupin gave him a worried look and then stopped walking, trying to hide it. He turned so he was facing Harry and put down his briefcase to grasp him by the shoulders. 

"Perhaps it isn't worth the trouble. We can turn back, Fudge's idea was silly, too dangerous."

Harry shrugged away his hands in disgust. "Will you stop _avoiding this! All I want is hear things the way they really are. Fudge wants me protected- so what? That's only what Dumbledore's been doing all along, guarding me during the summers. What about this makes you not want to tell me?" _

At this, Lupin fixed him with a hard stare, as if searching for some sort of affirmation. It made Harry uneasy; underneath that gaze was a form of desperation, one last plea for an easy way out of all this. But Harry would not allow him an easy way.

"Fine," he said after some time, soft enough that Harry barely caught it. "You'll be confined to a set of rooms until they've finished the search, which could take any amount of time. No one will come in, you cannot come out. You'll be guarded like...some sort of prisoner." His eyes were closed again. "Sometimes I forget that you aren't the third year I first knew, Harry. I should've told you from the start, let you make your own choice in the matter.

"Then why didn't you?" said Harry. 

Lupin opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again, considering, as if speaking was painful. "I knew that...afterwards, you would never forgive me."

"I would-"

"_No. You don't understand, Harry. Listen to me. _I_ was the one who suggested to Dumbledore that Sirius should be contained. For his own safety, for the safety of the Order- but do you know the truth?" He laughed humorlessly. "I did it for my own peace of mind."_

And then, Harry Potter, who had faced Voldemort and worse, who dangled one-handed from his broomstick and kept his focus, who had thrown off Cruciatus- Harry Potter felt frightened. Because it was then he realized that if one death could reduce a man to this, war could bring the world to its knees. 

He crouched down to pick up the briefcase and shoved it into Lupin's arms. The calculated shock was enough to make the older man open his eyes. 

"Let's go," said Harry, moving on without a backward glance. "We don't want to be late." 

No, the truth was, Harry Potter had no time for dreams without a purpose. He had to save two worlds, wizarding and Muggle, and a broken man. 

Not to mention himself. 


	7. Chapter 7 No Garden, One Dragon

_A/N: Hey and thanks to all that have reviewed so far- its been great hearing from you. Keep at it! A reviewed writer is a happy writer. ^^_

_Overall__ I'm not particularly satisfied with this chapter. I'd love to hear how I could improve it: feedback, please! All you editors and critics out there, here's my call for help! _

_Oh- I haven't been putting a disclaimer. Just in case:_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, I don't own Draco Malfoy, I don't own any part of J.K Rowling's lovely magical world. Thank you for shattering my fantasies. I'll go cry in the corner now and mutter about the cruelty and coldness of copyrights. _

_[end sarcasm]_

Chapter 7

Talking about the Malfoy Estate, his father has always said, requires a certain amount of back history.

During the rise of the Dark Lord, the original manor was evacuated and destroyed by Father himself. 

'Becoming a Death Eater involved sacrifice.' 'To be elite was no small thing.' From what Draco can remember, their security was compromised by a spy leak to the other side, and they were forced to destroy the location of all their plans. Father, it is said, set fire to his ancestral home without objection. 

But then the war ended in defeat. Their name was all but cleared and Father began again, laying out the plans of a new home for the family name.

The result was his masterpiece, more like a city than an estate. A high outer wall surrounded the area and within it stood many separate buildings connected by a system of garden-lined paths. Each compound was self-contained: the master's chambers, the distant practice rooms adjoining the Quidditch field, Mother's sewing nook. 

Nearest to the front gates was the only two-story building in the area, and the largest. The formal ballroom, dining room, drawing room, and kitchens could all be found here, used to play host to social events. 

In fact, there was soon to be one any day now- the final soiree his home would ever see. There would be fine music, Draco thought, but not as fine as the music the Malfoy's had played. The food would be excellent as well. 

The quality of the guests, however, would see the greatest fall in standards. It made Draco feel sick. Weasley's in his house. _Weasley's_. He began to think that he would be forced to destroy the Estate himself and save it the indignity. 

But then, he was thinking irrationally. 'War may not be the best of times,' he told himself, 'but there is always life after it.' Father had known this, playing one role in war and another entirely in polite society. He had struck a delicate balance, managed to keep his casualties low, and came out of battle mostly unscathed. 

He had maintained the Malfoy name. 

This was Draco's task. Respect and a certain amount of fear were already established, and his personal duty was in maintenance. Blowing up a home and half the ministry along with it would do little to help. 

There were other things he could do.

"This is it," said Lupin heavily. 

Harry looked up. They stood at the solid iron entrance gates of the Malfoy Estate and he was awed in spite of himself, ashamed because of this. When had he begun letting Malfoys leave him speechless? 

"It's...ugly," he said lamely. 

"It's nicer inside." Lupin walked past him and lifted the latch. 

"Fine. It doesn't matter, does it?" Harry pushed past and shouldered the door open. "Are we going in or not?"

They went in. Harry shut the gate behind them and steeled himself to hate whatever he might see.

All in all, it wasn't so difficult a task. The paths were lined with gardens but the flowers were becoming feral, overtaking the path with shoots and tremendous blooms. Lupin approached the bushes, standing near enough to touch them. "I should have known this would happen."

"Why?" asked Harry.

Lupin glanced up at him with a look of chagrin. "Well, ah- my mother gardened. For the Malfoys, that is. Back then it was good work."

Harry stopped, staring. "Your mother worked for the Malfoys. Tell me you're not part house elf or something."

"No, thankfully," replied Lupin. "Though the Malfoys do have house elves for most housekeeping. Plants, however, need a more..._human touch. Of course, there's more to it than just that, spells and what not. If Fudge had the area stripped of all remaining magic, then naturally the gardens would've grown wild." Lupin jerked his hand back suddenly, scattering petals. "I'm being a fool. I don't know why I'm letting myself go on like this- come on, Harry. Let's go."_

They made their way up the pathway towards the main building, an assortment of tan and cream-colored brick. A short flight of steps led to a raised terrace that overlooked the gardens. The afternoon sun threw shadows beneath a portico that encircled the house. 

Beneath it were Ron and Hermione, waiting for him. When she spotted Lupin and Harry trudging towards them, Hermione jumped up from her chair and hurried forward to embrace Harry in a ferocious, one-armed hug. 

"Harry!" she cried, letting go of him. "And Professor Lupin, you're finally here!" Ron trotted down the steps, grinning. 

"Oy, Harry, what took you?" 

Harry glanced quickly at Lupin. "We ran a little late." He frowned at Hermione, who had her right arm in a sling. "What happened to you?"

Hermione hesitated- barely, but it was there, nonetheless. She paused, and then laughed too easily. "I- I fell, you see. Tripped over Crookshanks as I was coming down the stairs, it was nothing really. Only a sprain." She lifted it up to show him. "See? It's nearly better now. I can't feel a thing!" 

It was such an obvious lie that Harry couldn't help but stare. Hermione flushed. 

Ron coughed, grabbing hold of Harry's free arm and pulling him up the steps. "Never mind that, Harry. They'll be wanting you settled in. I heard they're nearly done with the search, so you won't have to stay here for too long. And guess where they're putting you? You won't believe it - they've got you in _Malfoy's Room_! How bloody excellent is that? Imagine what you could destroy in there!-..."

But Harry was barely listening, instead casting glances back at Hermione. She had trailed behind with Lupin ad looked oddly fretful, almost as if she were on the verge of tears.

"Oy, Harry, are you listening? You won't want to miss the Quidditch pitch. Those Malfoys may all be evil, dirty old sods but they do know how to live."

"Sure, Ron," said Harry listlessly, wrenching his gaze away. "Sure."

"Wait."

Lupin stopped. Hermione Granger had grabbed his arm. 

For a moment he wanted to be angry with her. Harry was in danger here, shouldn't she have known that by now? To let him walk away with only Ron as a guard would do no favors for anyone. 

But he stopped, he wasn't quite sure why- her hand was trembling on his sleeve and maybe she reminded him the slightest bit of himself. He couldn't ignore it. "Miss Granger?"

She seemed relieved, almost as if she knew that he had been ready to refuse her. "Professor, I just..."

"Yes?"

"I lied to Harry just now."

He remained unmoved. "I thought all of us realized that, Miss Granger." She bit her lip. 

"I guess I'm not very good at lying," she said quietly. "But I wanted to know...if Harry will be all right if I told him..."

"What?" he asked sharply. "That you no longer plan on being a witch? That you aren't returning to Hogwarts?"

She gripped his sleeve more tightly. "Do you need to say that as if there were any other choice?" 

"It's only what I've told you before. You could better help in this war if you were educated, and you can't help at all if you give up. I'm sure Harry would tell you the same thing."

"I'm not worried about what Harry will tell me," she said. "I'm worried that he'd take it badly if I left."

Lupin sighed. "I can tell you that he'll take it badly, whatever way you choose."

"But which way would hurt him less?" she pleaded. Her expression was desperate and raw, so open that he replied reluctantly, though he knew what had to be done.  

"Stay. Don't hurt him at all." He set down his bag. "Do you want to know the truth? I've been his guardian for the past few weeks and I've seen some things. I've broken his trust," he said bitterly. "And no, he didn't take it well. He won't take _anything _well, Miss Granger, not anymore."

"I don't understand."

"Please just try then. I don't know how much more he can accept." He studied her closely. "We've got to depend on him now. We've got to do all we can to bring him up to that one moment, so he can fulfill his prophecy." 

"I know that!" Hermione cried, covering her face. "I know!" 

Rather than reply, Lupin knelt down and retrieved his bag. "Then you know that you have to make your own decision. There's nothing I can do for that."

He turned to walk away but Hermione threw herself at him, catching the back of his cloak and pulling it to her face like a frightened child would. She began to sob, her face pressed between his shoulder blades, his cloak gripped tightly in one fist.

He let her cry undisturbed. After awhile, her choked sobs died down and became a soft snuffling muted by fabric. Gently, he worked himself loose and put an arm around her shaking shoulders.

"Shh," he murmured, trying his best to soothe her. "I didn't mean any of that to hurt you. I think we all want what's best for Harry, that's all it is."

Hermione blinked tears out her eyes, laughing in embarrassment. "I'm sorry...I'm being stupid." She wiped her face with the sleeve of her robe. "I guess I just realized how much my life is part of Harry's, now."

"That's not so silly," Lupin replied. "It's only the truth." He straightened the front of his robes and reached out towards her. "Are you ready to go?"

She smiled. "Finally."

Walking towards Draco's rooms was more difficult than Harry had bargained for. Since the Estate had been abandoned, its gardens had become overgrown. Harry found himself pushing through tangled rose bushes, the thorns catching at his sleeves and nipping persistently at his face and hands.  The scent was heavy on the air, so strong that he could almost taste it in his mouth. Smaller flowers- larkspur, sea lavender, green ivy that had crept through the stone; it was beautiful in the odd way that disorder often was.  

The last stretch of his walk had already been cleared. Harry and Ron emerged, scratched but otherwise unharmed. 

"Lucky bastard, that Malfoy." Ron whistled. 

Harry couldn't help but be a bit envious himself. Draco's so-called "rooms" were nearly the size of a normal house. Sitting on the front step, orange-haired, was Tonks.

"Wotcher, Harry," she said, standing up to meet them. "But really, Ron-," She frowned in mock-seriousness. "Took you long enough to get him here. I was going mad with boredom." 

Ron scowled. "When are they going to get those stupid bushes cut back? I swear, if we aren't attacked first, I'm going to keel over from blood loss!" 

Tonks laughed. "Take it like a wizard." 

"Hey Tonks," said Harry, nudging up his glasses with his free hand. "Are you assigned to be my guard or is this just a welcoming party?"

She snorted. "Someone's gotten snarky during holidays. I'm guarding you for now at least- I think we'll be doing shifts."

"What I don't understand," said Ron loudly. "Is why they won't let me take a turn."

"You're not part of the Order is why. How many times have I got to tell you? Besides, each and every time a pretty witch strolls by, Ickle Ronnikins blushes and wouldn't notice if You Know Who himself charged in." 

Ron buried his face in his hands, but Harry could still see him turning bright red. "I can't believe Fred and George told her that nickname!" he muttered hotly.

"And Hermione is another story entirely-"  

"Sod off, sod off, _sod off_!"

Edging past them, Harry let himself in. He had barely appraised his surroundings- a glimpse of Draco's Nimbus and a painting hung above the bed were all he really caught- when a piercing alarm screamed through the air, making all three of them hasten to cover their ears. 

Harry pitched down his trunk and dashed outside again, wand at the ready. "WHAT'S THE MATTER?" he shouted, wincing. 

Both Ron and Tonks had their wands out as well. "THAT'S THE ALARM-" began Tonks.

"NO REALLY," Ron yelled.

She glared at him poisonously and then stumbled down the stairs. Harry and Ron followed. "IT _MEANS _THAT THERE'S AN INTRUDER ON THE GROUNDS." She turned back and grabbed Harry tightly by the arm without stopping. "WE'VE GOT TO GET HARRY SOMEWHERE SECURE! WHERE'S THAT DAMN LUPIN? HE WAS SUPPOSED TO STAY WITH YOU, HE KNOWS THAT WE HAVEN'T GOT ALL THE WARDS UP, I SWEAR-"

She began dragging Harry down the path, fumbling with her wand all the while. "IF MOODY WERE HERE...," she howled, "YOU'D BE FINE. BUT NO! YOU'VE GOT ME!" She knocked him on the top of her head with her wand. Harry got familiar feeling of having a cold egg smashed there but had no time to think about it. 

Ron looked at him and cursed. "BLOODY HELL, HARRY-" Harry glanced down at his toes in alarm. His trainers were blotchy; he could see through to the ground through certain parts of his feet, but not others. 

"STUFF IT," shouted Tonks, before running headlong into Lupin. Hermione was right behind him. Still panting, Lupin took one look at Harry and sighed, though the alarm was far too loud for anyone to hear him. 

"REMUS-"

"TELL ME YOU DIDN'T TRY A DISILLUSIONMENT CHARM, TONKS!"

"NEVERMIND THAT! WHERE WAS THE BREACH?"

Lupin began driving Harry down the path, Tonks just ahead of him and Ron and Hermione just behind. They heldd their hands up to shield their faces as they ran. "TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT. I'M HEADED THERE TO SEE WHAT'S GOING ON. GET THESE THREE TO THE ENTRANCE HALL."

But then, abruptly, the alarm died. They halted in their tracks and waited.

"I suppose," said Ron after a few beats of silence, "that Tonks is going to tell us that the alarm is off."

"Quiet, you." Tonks scanned the area, but there was no one to be seen. 

"Either they've caught the intruder or whoever it was has gotten away," said Lupin thoughtfully. "I suppose all we can do is get Harry back there, and the wards up as quickly as we can." 

"Sounds fair enough." Tonks nodded. "I'll go on ahead, to be safe."

She ducked under a low-lying branch and disappeared from view. Taking out his wand, Lupin considered for a moment before giving Harry a sharp tap to the head. A quick glance at his shoulders and toes showed that Harry was whole again.

And then they waited. The alarm still rang dully in his ears, leaving a stain on what would have been a perfect silence. Waiting. His heart raced in his chest. Though his wand hand trembled, it made no sound except in his mind. Waiting. He expected the enemy to appear at any moment, at _this _moment when they were at their weakest, least protected.

The bushes rustled and Tonks appeared, shaking her head. 

"I can't believe this!" she raved, catching her foot on a rock and then kicking at the rock in retaliation. She looked at Lupin, eyes on fire. "They knew we would try to get Harry to safety-"

"What do you mean?" said Lupin quickly. 

"They weren't coming for us at all! I went back to that Malfoy boy's rooms, where we're putting Harry- and I saw the door was closed. I didn't remember shutting it on our way out-"

"What happened?" Hermione asked, pressing. "Did you catch them in there? Was something stolen?"

"That's just it!" said Tonks angrily. "They've taken Harry's Firebolt! I mean, really- breaking into the Estate to get hold of a racing broom..."

"What?" said Harry, staggered. 

"Harry's _Firebolt?!" Ron's eyes grew as round as Dobby's. "His __Firebolt," he repeated disbelievingly.   _

But Harry wasn't listening anymore. They'd taken his broom. Did everything he own need to be taken from him? Was he to be denied any semblance of a normal life? Harry wanted to scream but suppressed the need, he wanted to throw things but _knew_- it would do absolutely nothing. He already knew the answers to the questions he would ask. 

So, instead, Harry swallowed and moved on. 

"I think," he said suddenly, startling the others. "We should go back."

Lupin's expression softened. "Of course."

They went back, and though Harry knew he would not find what he was looking for, he looked for it anyway. As it was, Draco's broom was gone as well.


	8. Chapter 8 'Til Lips Spill It

Chapter 8 -  'Til Lips Spill It.

"Draco?"

Had he heard his name? Draco rolled over his back and tried to ignore the strands of hair stuck to the side of his face.

"Draco, wake up, will you?"

Wake up? No, he didn't want to wake up now. A green-tinted light shown persistently through his eyelids and he draped an arm across his face to block it. 

"Draco Malfoy! Wake up before I have to get my wand out!"

He smiled sleepily without moving an inch. "What's the problem, Parkinson?"

She pulled his arm away, making angry noises all the while. There was that green light again- he screwed his eyes closed tighter against it and turned his head to the side. His cheek felt warm against the floor, pleasantly sun-baked. "What's the problem? _You _are the problem! Leaving me to guard all night while you slept your lazy arse off. What if they had found us up here?" 

"And how would they do that?" he laughed. He peered up at her through barely open eyes and caught hold of her hand to pull her down. She gave a small shriek as she fell across him.

"What the bloody fuck do you think you're doing?" she said angrily. He could tell, though, that she didn't mean a word of it; her body curled against his and conformed to his shape like a glove. A purr found its way into her voice. 

It was all too simple. Pansy could be so easy to maneuver sometimes. 

Draco laughed again, easing her off him onto the floor. "Sleep in, will you? It's lovely up here."

"Ha!" Oh, now he had done it- intentionally, of course. She narrowed her eyes and sat up, indignant. "I, for one, plan to do what we were sent for," said Pansy in a high voice. She then fell obstinately silent, refusing to say another word. 

"I _swear_, Parkinson," he muttered. Rising, Draco inhaled sharply and pressed a hand to his chest; the wound he had gotten from Harry's spell hadn't yet completely healed. He looked to see if Pansy had noticed (she hadn't) and continued. "Relax."

She ignored him.

"_Pansy_," he cajoled. "Come on, now, don't be like that. Our lord won't mind if we sleep in a little before we start the task."

She tossed her hair and laughed scornfully. "Just because you're already his favorite doesn't mean the rest of us can take it easy too!"

Ah, that again. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't give that to me," she said, hands on her hips. "Why aren't you ever _serious_, Draco Malfoy?" 

"Again, no idea. You absolutely baffle me." He looked up at her with his eyes half-closed, playing idly with a silver chain around his neck. Attached to it and tucked into his shirt was the pocket watch he had stolen for Potter at the inn. It had seemed too heavy to hang around his neck at first, but he hadn't felt right leaving it anywhere else. Now, he was used to its weight; he had even fallen into the habit of playing with it while he talked. "I'm nobody's favorite at all- except yours, perhaps."

"Perhaps," she replied, a bit of a chide in her voice. Still, she spoke softly and appeared gentler than she had before. 

Draco smiled, propping himself up on his elbows. He tilted his chin back and appraised her. "Settled down, then? Let's go."

She crossed the floor- her footsteps clicked faintly against the colored glass. When she had reached the center of the room, she pried up a wide, translucent green pane and heaved it to the side with Draco's help. Uncoiling a rope ladder allowed them to descend into the menagerie.

It was emptied now, of course, and had been since the ministry had seized the property. All the beasts the family kept here had been auctioned off or donated to zoos across the world. Still, the lingering smell of animals remained in the air- Pansy pinched her nose as she climbed down. She had complained for most of the night about a stench that he could barely smell anymore. 

Soon, they had passed the barred cages and emerged outside. With a look upwards, Draco could see the green-glass pyramid perched on top of the menagerie. Though it seemed to be just a decoration, the pyramid was actually a hidden room. Unbreakable Charms made it sturdier than it looked. 

Two stone sphinxes guarded the building. These two had given the ministry some problems- though they stayed frozen as Draco passed, and acknowledged Pansy with only a lazy flick of tails. _Allies of the Malfoy family, thought Draco, __stay safe._

He turned the sphinx on the right, who smiled slyly at him and gestured once with one great stone paw. Draco kissed her in reply (Pansy glared), then stepped back, waiting.

The sphinx opened her mouth- wider and wider she stretched, until Draco could have hid himself inside of her. Reaching his arm in up to the shoulder, he grabbed what he had came for and drew them out by their handles; two brooms, his own and Harry's. 

Pansy neatly plucked the Firebolt from his hand. "I'll take this one."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "What gives you the right-"

But she had already mounted and was up in the air. "I'm not going to let your vendetta against Harry Potter get in the way of our job," she called. He sighed, swinging a leg over his broom, and followed after her. 

They rose higher and higher. Pansy flew sharply upwards, nearly vertically. Draco was less afraid of being seen, but still- there was a chance. 

"All right there, Parkinson?"

"If you are."

Any chance is mortal danger when you're a spy. 

_Dear Hermione,_

_Viktor Krum. I bet it's your dear Vicky, isn't it?_

_- Harry_

_Dear Harry,_

_Nope. Don't you think this is getting old?_

_~Hermione_

_Dear Hermione_

_Not at all.___

_- Harry_

_Dear Harry,_

_Let's__ talk about something else._

_~Hermione_

_Dear Hermione,_

_Fine.__ What about the progress they're making out there? How much longer do you reckon I've got to stay holed up?_

_- Harry_

_Dear Harry,_

_Well we haven't been told much, but...I suspect they've nearly finished. Is it that bad in there, Harry?_

_~Hermione_

Harry looked from the folded note in his hands to the ceiling. "Yes...and no," he wanted to tell her.

It wasn't so much the rooms that bothered him. Sitting cross-legged in the middle of floor, he could see all the luxuries that Draco had been brought up with. The golden Gobstones that Harry had wanted. A bookcase lined with books and a dresser filled with fine clothes. More Quidditch equipment than one little boy could ever use, though Draco's prized Nimbus 2002 was now missing from his collection. With every glance, Harry caught things that he had missed before. 

No, what made him restless was this solitary confinement. He felt like he was being punished rather than protected and he often wondered whether Sirius had felt like this...when he had been alive, anyway. 

But this was Sirius's condition in Grimmauld Place multiplied by a thousand. Harry had no human contact besides notes, saw no human faces other than the pictures in Draco's old storybooks and a Malfoy family portrait hung above the bed. One of the lowest points in his life was when he tried speaking to them, though the entire family remained obstinately silent and left for long periods of time. 

When they actually appeared, Harry was kept under constant scrutiny. Draco was around age eleven in the picture, wearing his new Hogwarts robes and smirking proudly whenever he got the chance. It was exactly how Harry remembered him, when they had met for the first time. Carrying those robes on that skinny frame as if the world should be kissing the hem. 

He brought his focus back to the paper. Hermione's words were slowly fading from the parchment; with the tip of his feathered quill in the corner of mouth, Harry thought for a moment before jotting down a few words. 

_Don't__ worry about me was what it read. __I'll__ survive. _

Dropping the quill into his lap, Harry picked up his wand and tapped the parchment once. The words vanished, just as they were meant to. Clever Hermione had set up this system early on, as a birthday gift to Harry. If its resemblance to Riddle's diary bothered him at all, he didn't say so. 

Hermione's reply soon returned. _You always do._

Harry reread it uncertainly a few times before writing back. _Do you mean something by that?_

A long silence followed. At least, Harry had come to think of them as silences. The truth was, he didn't think he'd spoken three words in the past day. 

_I always mean what I say. I never go back on my word. Or don't you remember?_

He could hear shouting outside and it worried him. Frowning against the sound, his eyebrows furrowed downward, Harry quickly scribbled a reply. _I don't remember you ever saying that._

_You may have been asleep at the time. Yes...you were sleeping. _

In fact...it sounded like it was _Hermione shouting. It couldn't be, she was writing to him right now. She would have said if something was wrong. _

_Hermione?__ Is everything all right out there?_

His eyes darted around the room, his shoulders tensed, his hand drew instinctively towards his wand- just waiting for that reply. 

_Something the matter, Potter?___

Harry jumped up- the paper floated to the floor, just at his toes. He could hear Hermione shouting for him from outside. She knocked at the door first and then pounded, a persistent _thud thud thud _that seemed to echo in his head again and again. A feeling of sick dread rose in his gut. 

Something was, in fact, the matter. Something, somebody, some_how- his mind was racing, the long silence had turned into paranoia. How had anyone intercepted their system? _

_Don't__ make me worried about you._

"Who are you?!" Harry shouted- of course, no one heard, he was shouting at the empty air.

_Shouting now, are we? I can hear you from here._

"Come out and face me, Malfoy!" 

_Ignore me, then. You'll get what's coming to you soon enough. See you at dinner, if you're not already dead._

Harry scrambled for his quill, damn that feather, slipping through his fingers, he was almost there, just another inch-

 - but the words soon faded. The paper was blank and silent. 

So silent. 

So silent it made Harry wonder if he could possibly...want Draco to come back.

He stared at the paper for a while, not noticing when the quill fell from his fingers and left a trail of ink on his leg. The parchment was empty. He didn't see or care about this. He saw only the script, a sharp, pointed hand that was nearly as neat as Hermione's, trailing tails and flourishes and death all at once. A memory on the page.

The parchment never worked properly after that, no matter how long he had Hermione trying to repair the spells. 

"Why do you do that?" Pansy asked suddenly, sending him a sharp look. 

"What?" Draco glanced up from his parchment. 

"Stare like that. At the paper. There isn't even any writing on it. It makes you look so foolish, staring at an empty piece of parchment." She snatched it from his fingers, probing suspiciously. He let it go without a fight. 

Finding nothing, she sniffed and pitched it back at him. "I don't like it."

"What do you want me to do then, Parkinson?" He sneered, stretching forward to tuck the paper into a small wooden treasure box. When he closed it, Pansy could hear the soft clicking of gears that would only unlock again for the hand that put it in. 

Draco propped himself up again on his elbows and gave her a scornful smile. "Stare at you?"

She hoped then, scowling, that the candlelight wasn't bright enough to show the blush on her face. It was barely enough, as it was, to catch the familiar green accents of the glass pyramid. The result was a gold-green that muddled into brown or black around the shadows. 

Draco, sitting right up to the candle, was tinged gold, and the pocket watch around his neck gleamed hypnotically bright. It swayed slightly when he moved and it often made Pansy feel dizzy when she looked at it. Often she was tempted to wrench it from his throat.

But instead she wondered. He had started wearing it when they had been assigned to spy on the activity in the Estate, but she had never once seen him open it to check the time. At least, never while she was around. Nor would he take it off during the day. At night he would lock it away in his treasure box, listening closely to the clicking gears before he was assured enough of its safety to sleep.

In all likelihood, Draco never noticed that Pansy watched him do these things. Maybe it was his arrogance. He was never as cunning as he seemed to think. But Pansy _did notice, and if she had been a Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, or even a Ravenclaw, she wouldn't have thought twice about it. The watch could be an expensive heirloom, passed down the Malfoy line. It could be another gift from his father._

But Pansy was a Slytherin. She saw that, though the watch had been recently well- repaired, the color of gold plating was uneven and even looked rough at some points. That the style of the small gold clasp did not match the body of the watch itself. 

No Malfoy would let an heirloom fall into that sort of condition.

"Now let me ask you something." A drawl sliced through her thoughts. Pansy pulled her gaze from the pocket watch and up to Draco's eyes. "Why do _you _do that?"

She smiled wryly. "Do what?"

He held the watch up by the chain and swung it side to side. "Stare at this ugly thing. It makes you look concerned."

She reached over the candle and caught the watch mid-swing, startling Draco. He looked up at her for a moment, a puzzled arch to his eyebrows, and then let go of the chain.

"I've just been wondering," she began slowly. Her fingers traced slowly along the watch's edge. She would need to be cautious in her choice of words. "When did your father decided you needed another watch?"

"You think my father has taste like this?" he sneered. "I could take that as an insult."

So that was the wrong approach. "That's not what I meant," she said hastily. 

"Yeah?" He tilted his chin up to look across at her defiantly. "Are you sure?"

She couldn't think of what to reply. All she could do was stare across at him; the candlelight flickered balefully across his pale features, his narrowed mocking eyes. A smile sat awkwardly on his lips as if trying to soften the blow after having forgotten how to be soft. They say that candlelight softens imperfections, but the light only brought his out more starkly. 

He pulled the watch neatly from her fingers and held it in his hand again with a fond expression. "You want to hear the true story then?" She nodded numbly. Draco smiled, tipped his hand to give her a better view, and then opened the clasp. 

Pansy nearly shamed herself. She could barely keep from gasping. 


End file.
